Vanity
by Myrddin Emrys
Summary: And when you are a Malfoy, being fresh was almost as important as being satisfied. Draco Malfoy's point of view. He's an arrogant, annoying, insufferable wizard, and he likes it.
1. Chapter 1

AN:I don't own Harry Potter...  
  
  
Vanity  
  
  
Chapter 1: I am a Malfoy  
  
  


_You're cynical and beautiful  
You always make a scene  
You're monochrome delirious  
You're nothing that you seem  
I'm drowning in your vanity  
You're laugh is a disease  
You're dirty and you're sweet  
You know your everything I need  
  
Dizzy' by Goo Goo Dolls_  


  


  


SMASH. The sound echoed throughout the small dorm as a heavy porcelain object was obliterated against the wall.  
  
Draco Malfoy picked it another priceless trinket and tossed it up and down, wondering.  
  
Why me? He flung the trinket against the wall, watching as it collided against the wall.  
  
This Christmas he was to take up position destined for him. He was to take his place at Voldemort's right hand.  
  
And he didn't want to do it!  
  
Draco Malfoy wasn't scared... he wasn't suddenly afflicted with a conscience either... It was simply arrogance, and self-centeredness that was displayed by this act of insolence.  
  
Draco Malfoy was his own boss.  
  
After Potter and Weasley put his father in Azkaban during fifth year, he became head of the Malfoy Family, and he was in complete control of himself and his immense wealth. And now in his seventh year, he loved it. Nothing was going to make him second best. Not even Voldemort.  
  
He wasn't changing sides, of course. He was not a muggle loving fool like Albus Dumbledore, and he certainly wasn't a hero like Potter.  
  
He was a Malfoy, and the name deserves respect.  
  
He just wouldn't come home at Christmas. Nothing could force him, too, so bloody hell! Let them try!  
  
  
  
  
He walked down to dinner, and sat down between Crabbe and Goyle, and across from Pansy and Blaise.  
  
Hey, Draco, Pansy said seductively.  
  
She was trying to regain the relationship they had in fourth year. Before she slept with Derric Freyton, a Hufflepuff.  
  
Pansy, why don't you understand? I don't want you back! We are through! he snarled.   
  
She, however, was oblivious to his dislike of her.  
  
Ohhh, Drakie-  
  
Don't call me that! he glared and was about to yell some more, but Dumbledore stood up to address the school.  
  
_Dingbat_, he thought snidely.  
  
May I have your attention! his eyes swept across the room and settled looking at him and winking.  
  
Did he just- he was about to question the wink, but he realized there was no one intelligent to talk to. He sighed.  
  
I am pleased to inform you that there is a new nursing assistant to help out Madame Pomphrey in the Hospital Wing.  
  
A door opened and in walked a girl about his age walked in. She had Dark red hair that flowed down to her waist, and the most pale flawless skin he had ever seen.  
  
May I present Lyren Claire... Dumbledore's voice faded as he was entranced by her movements.  
  
She wasn't wearing robes, he noticed. She was wearing non-wizarding clothes, muggle clothes.  
  
Bloody hell, she looked good in muggle clothes.   
  
She was wearing a black tank top with a black lace shirt over it. She wore tight black pants, which were slung low showing about two inches of skin between.  
  
She was perfect.  
  
She looked at the multitude of students and flashed a smile.  
  
He studied her... yes she was perfect, and she knew it too.  
  
He looked around the great hall to gage the approval of the new medi-assistant. All around the hall several mouths hung open, including Potter and Weasley.   
  
He smirked as Granger smacked them both on the face to wake them up.  
  
Soon enough, dinner was over, and he realized he needed sleep. Tomorrow was quidditch: Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw.  
  
  
  
It was a perfect day for quidditch. The sky was a little overcast, but that would prevent the sun from getting in his eyes. It wasn't going to rain either he hoped, but no one could tell. The grass was green; the air cool, but not even the slightest bit cold. It was perfect.  
  
Draco entered the field in good spirits. Slytherin would win, he could just feel it. He had told the team, as he was the new captain, to play fair. This was his final year and he wanted to win because of skill. Save the dirty tricks until the Gryffindor game.  
  
Madame Hooch started the game and he launched in the air, enjoying the feeling of the air rushing around him.  
  
He flew around looking around for the snitch. He observed from the corner of his eye, Slytherin chasers breaking the Ravenclaw formation. He smirked as he realized that if fouls were given they wouldn't be his team. He told them if you foul you are out.   
  
And they were good the give the Malfoy name respect.   
  
Slytherin scored, but he didn't notice as he was studying the sky for the snitch.   
  
A glint of gold was spotted at the goal post closest the Ravenclaw seeker, so he dived in the opposite direction, distracting her long enough for the snitch to fly away unnoticed. and he pulled up from his dive, he heard Hooch call a foul. He glared mightily at the offender, Bulstrode, his newest beater.  
  
He called timeout and the team flew to the ground to meet him.  
  
Sorry, Draco, started Bulstrode.  
  
He grabbed the bat from the hand that held it, and tossed it to the reserve beater. He stood up and Bulstrode sat down, looking dejected.  
  
When I say no fouls, he threw a look around, I mean _no fouls_.  
  
He got back on his broom and the game resumed.


	2. Chapter 2

Vanity 2

It did not surprise Draco that he saw the snitch before Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker did. In fact, he wondered why she was a seeker at all: all she seemed to be doing was scanning the crowd, looking for someone.

He considered the idea of prolonging the game and allowing his chasers to obliterate the opposition, but he decided against it. He was feeling a little tired, and he was ready for the Slytherin after party.

He dove casually for the snitch. A huge gasp resounded in the stadium. Chang began to chase him. It was all too easy. When his fingers enclosed upon the sleek, cool metal, the audience exploded into response. The Slytherin quarter of the stands cheered, but it was the resounding boos from the other three fourths that swallowed him. He was furious. Had his team not just played a clean game?

And for that matter, had not Ravenclaw played a pretty miserable game? Fifteen fouls, total. That was typical of Slytherins, not others.

Stomping past his jubilant teammates, he entered the locker room. After a quick shower and change of clothes he was feeling fresher, if not satisfied. And when you are a Malfoy, being fresh was almost as important as being satisfied.

He walked back to the school. All of the fans had drifted back up to the school, and his teammates had disappeared undoubtedly to the victory celebration. In fact, all seemed quiet. This suited Draco just fine.

But wait! What was that sound over behind the bushes. He snuck closer and grinned when he recognized voices.

It was Granger and the Weasel.

He was about to reveal himself but stopped grinning gleefully as he heard what Granger was saying.

"Ron, I don't think you understand. I love you as a _brother_—nothing more. I know this may hurt you, but we can't be anything but friends."

"What? Hermione, you love me. You know you do. You just don't-"

"Ron, no I don't!"

There was a little sound of a struggle. "Don't try that again, Ron. I-I-I don't want to lose our friendship."

"What friendship?" the Weasel shouted and stalked out of the hining place, oblivious to Draco.

Draco strolled into Granger's view.

"Trouble in paradise?" he asked, smirk firmly attached. Granger was _crying_!

"Go away." She said fiercely. It was actually kind of pathetic.

"Don't like it when Weasley attempts to snog you? And here I thought you were the perfect couple?" he said in a syrupy sweet voice.

"Go to hell."

He leaned forward. "What would you know about hell? Either way I'd rather go to hell than go try to be friends with those losers. What? Still crying or is that where Weasel slobbered on you?" He mentally gave himself a pat on the back as Grnger furiously wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

He turned to go. He couldn't resist a parting shot. "Maybe Weasley is the best you could do. I mean it isn't very often that a mudblood gets a pureblood, even a muggle-loving idiot like him."

He stalked off in the direction of the school, feeling satisfied and fresh. Now his only problem was finding himself a drink. He was thirsty. The after-party would have some butterbeer. That would do.


End file.
